('Turnip') Strallan
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: For Valentine's 2016.
1. Chapter 1

He looked at himself in the long mirror at the end of the changing room. For once in his life he was secretly quite pleased that he was so tall and broad because it suited these clothes. Patent leather shoes, pressed formal trousers with a length of silk up the side hiding the seam, starched waistcoat and shirt with sparkly stud buttons and a gorgeous gold half-hunter watch in the pocket and matching Albert chain swagged just above his waist, elegant tailcoat, and, of course, the eponymous white tie.

Well, what was the point of owning your own company and working all the hours God sent you, if you didn't allow yourself to splash a little of the resulting _considerable_ income on something like this occasionally? Anthony then had to think very hard to remember the last time he had allowed himself to do just that. Going to the opera festival in Verona about ten years back, wasn't it?

Yes, he looked pretty darn good, but that still didn't prevent him feeling nervous and a bit silly. Especially after the man from the costume hire company had draped a flowing opera cape around his shoulders, linking the chain at his neck, and shown him how to place the top hat on his head correctly. He thought he looked like a villain straight out of some Edwardian melodrama.

"You look magnificent, Sir Anthony. I hope you have a very pleasant evening."

He thanked the man, hailed a taxi, ignored the cabbie's fatuous remarks, and thought _What's the worst thing that could happen tonight? They're all going to be in fancy dress too, so no one's going to make fun of me. Even if no one takes any notice of me at all, that's normal for me. I'm used to it._

* * *

…

He had told himself it was a bit of fun, an excuse to dress up. He ignored any feeling of hope that ambushed his heart. But somewhere deep down he prayed that tonight might change his life. He didn't usually do this sort of thing, but when his sister had pointed the notice out to him, he just thought _Why not_? A Valentine's singles evening at the Victoria and Albert Museum in Edwardian fancy dress (historically accurate, of course) to echo the theme of their latest exhibition.

But now that the taxi was pulling up outside the imposing building in Exhibition Road, South Kensington, he felt his stomach fluttering with the familiar social anxiety he'd suffered from since childhood. He took a few deep breaths and repeated the mantra: _Keep calm and everything will be fine._

And it was. He had been fascinated to look around the exhibition of Edwardian fashion (included in the ticket price). He had watched others around him while he drank Prosecco. Only a very few men had achieved the sort of polished correctness that he had done, which boosted his ego, but many ladies had really done extremely well. Anthony admired their efforts, thinking what an elegant age the well-to-do had enjoyed back then, certainly in comparison to the scruffiness _de rigueur_ today. But of course his efforts came to nothing: none of the women there were really all that interested in what the men were wearing.

He began noticing those for whom tonight had already paid dividends: there was some speed dating going on, and some much slower, more romantic dating as well. That had made him feel melancholy once more, especially when it struck him that he was ten, or even twenty, years older than many of the attendees around him. There was one particular lady standing near the bar dressed in a fabulous turquoise gown with a slit on one side exposing just enough leg to convince any man looking that here was a goddess of loveliness. Yet she seemed to be beset by nerves even more than he. As he admired her, her shimmering blond hair, her dark eyes full of worry searching the crowd, a young man walked up to her from behind. She jumped, surprised, then gave an embarrassed little laugh. The man leaned forward to kiss her cheek. _Dear god, you're a fool, Strallan; a sad, old fool. No woman as beautiful as her is going to look at you, ever._

He went to the bar to return his empty glass hoping to slip away, when something caught his eye: the man was dropping something into a flute of wine. _What a little twerp! Even with the company of that gorgeous girl, he needs this. Young people today! Always drugging themselves into oblivion he thought._ But as he continued to watch, the man took the glass and gave it to the young lady, smiling quite openly all the while.

"There you are, baby."

"You're very kind to me, Michael."

"Nonsense! Nothing's too good for my date!"

He was shocked and frozen by what was unfolding in front of him. Before Anthony could say or do anything, the young lady took a long gulp of the wine, glanced back at the man who nodded encouragement, and then swigged back the rest obviously in need of the Dutch courage.

 _No, no, no, no! I can't believe this is happening!_

"You don't really want to stay here, amongst all this boring history stuff" the young man stated.

"Actually, I am interested in…" the girl tried to respond.

"There's much more interesting things to do back at my flat" he leered.

"Wait a minute! Please, miss, don't go with him! Don't trust him!" Anthony was so outraged at the little guttersnipe's actions that he spared no thought for himself. Sounding like an idiot and looking like a madman just didn't matter at that moment. Fortunately, being caught unexpectedly had caused the man to panic, giving himself away quite obviously.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. I saw you. You put something in her drink, didn't you? Just before you gave it to her."

"That's not true is it, Michael?" Anthony could see she was frightened, disappointed, and half a dozen other emotions, yet she was trying so hard to be brave and composed. She was lovely and courageous and magnificent, and really didn't deserve a worm like him.

Michael opened and closed his mouth several times before clutching at straws.

"Oh, come on, Edith. That's not like you. I thought you could take a joke."

"But...but I thought…I thought you…" she stammered

Anthony had had enough. He took the lady's arm and steered her to the main reception desk. He explained what had happened to one of the stewards and demanded that an ambulance be called.

"How are you feeling now?" he gently asked the girl.

"Just very...let down. I don't feel odd at all; not physically."

"Good, but we must get you to a hospital before the drug kicks in."

The Steward called to them.

"Hello? I've spoken to A & E at University College Hospital. They say as long as she hasn't been attacked, and the perpetrator admits what they did, then the best thing she can do is go home and sleep it off as long as she's got someone with her."

"But I haven't. I'm single, that's _why_ I'm at this party!"

"Sorry, miss, that's the best I can do."

She looked up at Anthony will large, sad, doe-like eyes.

"Well, I...oh dear. I suppose I'd better get back then. Thank you. Thank you so much for all you did, challenging him and everything."

She was so very sad, it made his chest ache.

"Please...please would you allow me to see you home? I'd worry so otherwise."

She hesitated. He couldn't really blame her.

"I don't know how to prove it to you, but I promise I am not a predator of any kind. I wouldn't even know how to begin."

"Of course you're not. I wasn't thinking that" she said with a tiny smile.

"What is it?"

"You've been so kind and done so much for me already, I'm not sure I should be trespassing any further on your evening."

He scoffed mildly.

"My evening ended when I realised I was being a silly old fool for even attending. Now, may I see you safely home?"

"I'd like that very much."

They left the Museum, and Anthony hailed a taxi. He invited the girl to give her address to the cabbie, then started tapping at his smartphone.

"I don't suppose you happen to know how long Rohypnol and stuff like that takes to start working, do you?"

"I haven't the foggiest I'm afraid. Do you think we can trust what the hospital said?"

She sounded even smaller than she was. Carefully, he took her hand.

"I know you're frightened. Good God, you have every reason to be terrified! But I do think their advice was in your best interests. Drugs like this are, essentially, very strong sleeping pills. If the doctors can't do much to stop it working, then don't you think it would be most comfortable enduring it in your own bed rather than a hospital?"

"Yes...I'd agree if I didn't live alone. I'm so scared." Tears kept in check for so long finally began to slip down her cheeks.

"I don't suppose you would…stay...would you?"

Anthony gave her a concerned look.

"I hardly think that would be sensible." She looked more upset than ever at that. "You've had a lucky escape with one stranger. I don't think you really want to invite another strange man into your home. Can I fetch a relative for you, once you're settled?"

"My relations all live in Yorkshire. And Michael wasn't a stranger. We went to the party together. He's my Boss."

She looked up and found her companion aghast.

"Really?!"

"Really. He's made no secret of the fact that he fancies me. The trouble is that he's married. I couldn't, _wouldn't_ , do that, so I kept refusing him. But then he invited me to the do at the V&A, as an apology, he said. A fresh start! Now, thanks to you, I find that all he wanted was to drug me and...and have his wicked way with me."

Anthony kept a respectful silence for a moment.

"You're almost as old-fashioned as I am when it comes to words" he smiled at her.

"Oh, I am! Old-fashioned, I mean, in just about everything."

"Me too!"

They'd arrived outside of her building. Anthony insisted on paying, despite her pleas. Once the taxi had gone, they looked at each other awkwardly.

"Please stay. I know I can trust you. I don't know how I know it, but I just do."

"The lesser of two evils I suppose...and I swear to you on my life that you will come to no harm because of me."

She let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

"Thank you...I don't even know your name!"

He swept off his top hat and bowed with a flourish.

"Anthony Strallan at your service, my lady!"

She giggled as she replied.

"And I'm Edith Crawley, sir!"

She tried to curtsey, but wobbled a bit. Anthony wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. He looked into her eyes, then coughed slightly and stepped back. A thought hit him belatedly.

"Not...not _the_ Edith Crawley? Columnist for the _Sentinel_?"

She nodded shyly.

"Wow! I read your column every week, and I follow you on Twitter!"

She blushed and muttered "Thank you; you're very kind" softly as she found her key and went to put it into the lock. She missed three times before Anthony took it from her respectfully.

"That's probably the pill starting to work, impairing your judgement. You had better tell me which flat I'm taking you to, in case you're asleep by the time we get there."

That made her laugh a little ruefully.

"Number four. And...and...and you're not allowed to look at my browsing history or my smalls drawer. Oh, and could you feed Aslan?"

"You have a pet lion?"

"You'll see! What do you do, for a living I mean?"

"Something very boring in comparison to you."

"What?" she demanded, becoming more uninhibited by the minute now.

"I'm an Agricultural Management Consultant."

"A what?"

"A management consultant for farmers. You know the old adage that a management consultant is a man who borrows your watch and then charges you for telling you the time? Well, I do that, except the watches I borrow have cow muck on them."

"Don't grow that, grow this? Like 'Turnip' Townshend? That sort of thing?"

Anthony stopped walking up the stairs.

"That's...astounding. No one ever understands what I do, let alone know the history. I am seriously impressed!"

"Old 'Turnip' was an Earl. I'm related to him somehow, I think."

They'd arrived outside of number four.

"I'm sorry? You think you're related to an Earl?"

"No, I _know_ I'm related to several Earls, of which my father is one. Most of the aristocracy are related to each other. I'm just not sure _how_ I'm related to Old 'Turnip'"

"So you're _Lady_ Edith!"

"Yeah. I just don't tell anyone!"

"Except when under the influence. I see."

Anthony had opened the door.

"Well, in that case, please enter your domain, my lady."

Edith gave him a mock supercilious smile, stepped forward...and lost her footing.

Anthony caught her, holding her steady, then gradually bringing her upright again.

"I hope you realise that I don't make a habit of catching drugged, beautiful, young ladies and carrying them home" he said as he lifted her as easily as a pillow.

"If I'm a Lady, you'll have to be a knight! Sir Anthony!"

"Actually I am a Sir Anthony, but a baronet, not a knight. I just don't tell anyone!"

"Unless they are under the influence and won't remember. Well, I'll be blowed! What are the chances, eh?"

"Of all the bars in all the museums in all the world, you had to walk into mine!" he growled in a very bad Humphrey Bogart accent.

She began to laugh, but it quickly turned to tears again.

"Did I say something wrong?" Anthony asked.

"I'm sorry. It's just...never mind."

"Please, go on, I'd like to hear it if it would help."

He'd found her bedroom and tenderly laid her down.

"I was just thinking that if I had gone to that party by myself without Michael, and met you there, I might be having such a lovely time now.

She'd said all sorts of things that had pleased him, soothed him, and smoothed his ego. But this really was too much to believe.

"Yes, just think, you could be bored to death by a middle aged farming manager. What a way to spend your Friday evening!"

"I wouldn't be bored; not by someone who calls me beautiful."

"Well, you are."

"I think you're the first person ever to tell me so."

"Then all the young men in London are idiots."

She closed her eyes as though she couldn't keep them open any longer, and he stared at her. He didn't seem to be able to stop himself. He was forcibly stopped by a very large marmalade cat jumping up on the bed, mewing loudly.

"Ah, Aslan I presume!"

"He's….hungry….food….kitchen" Edith yawned.

"How about I feed Aslan, and you change into your nightclothes? Deal?"

"Deal. I _will_ keep awake and do that."

He nodded his admiration of her determination, and then picked up the still-complaining Aslan to carry him to the kitchen. Cat food was found in the the fourth cupboard he tried. Then, and only then, did Aslan decide that Anthony was an acceptable person. He refreshed the cat's water before returning to the bedroom. He knocked loudly on the door. There was no answer.

He looked round the room gingerly. He'd promised her that he wouldn't take liberties. Surely this counted as such? There was a pile of 1920s clothes on the floor next to the bed. Thankfully he saw the lady herself under the duvet and only just awake, regarding him closely.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you. How could I not with such a handsome man in my bedroom?"

He felt the blush travel up his neck to his cheeks.

"That's just the drug talking."

"Sir Anthony?"

"Just Anthony. Yes?"

"I'm glad you're here. I feel much safer with you here."

She closed her eyes again.

"I promise you that I will keep you safe. I will watch over you and call for help if you need it. In the morning, I'll still be here to make sure you're fine, and to get you anything you need. Because you are the most amazing woman. You're amazing, and lovely, and brave, and beautiful, and entrancing, and I think you're wonderful. I'm just so grateful that I could be the one to help you tonight."

There was no response. She had passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

_**I need to apologise for any Gregson shippers. I have tried to make him a bit more than two-dimensional by looking at him through Edith's eyes, but it still won't please you. In fact, I wouldn't read this at all if I were you.**_

* * *

" _Sir Anthony?"_

" _Just Anthony. Yes?"_

" _I'm glad you're here. I feel much safer with you here."_

 _She closed her eyes again._

" _I promise you that I will keep you safe. I will watch over you and call for help if you need it. In the morning, I'll still be here to make sure you're fine, and to get you anything you need. Because you are the most amazing woman. You're amazing, and lovely, and brave, and beautiful, and entrancing, and I think you're wonderful. I'm just so grateful that I could be the one to help you tonight."_

 _There was no response. She had passed out._

* * *

 _..._

He watched her carefully. He'd promised he would keep her safe, after all. That was the reason why all he wanted to do at that moment was watch Edith Crawley, he told himself. He was just keeping his word to her by letting his eyes drink in her creamy complexion, her long eyelashes, the way her copper-blonde hair sweetly tried to curl in all directions. He had a fleeting vision of how it would tumble across his chest if she laid her head there. He shook that treacherous thought from his head. That was the sort of brutish male need that got her into this mess in the first place. He wasn't like that. At least he didn't think he was. He certainly hadn't been like that in the previous forty-five years of his life. Why was he thinking, and feeling, like that now? Despite his earnest discipline, guilty images of what she might look like if she raised her head from his chest to smile sleepily at him followed, and were just as forcefully dismissed.

He couldn't spend the entire night in unwelcome, unbidden, irresistibly intoxicating fantasy...it was uncomfortable, extremely uncomfortable, in more ways than one. Heaving a deep, unhappy sigh, he stood and began to scan her shelves for a good, _engrossing_ book to take his mind, and other bits of his anatomy, off of Edith Crawley, apart from keeping watch over her. He found Umberto Eco's _Foucault's Pendulum_ but he found he couldn't concentrate on that. He replaced the hefty paperback and tried again. Rose Tremain's _Music and Silence_ couldn't do it either. Finally he settled on Christopher Reid's _A Scattering_ (1) and began to read it aloud to Edith's sleeping form.

.

 _Those last few days_

 _of drug-drowse, coma-comfort…_

 _._

That was a bit near the knuckle. He skipped a few lines.

.

 _...a faint, fleeting_

 _muscular effort_

 _adjust her mouth and jaw_

 _as if in greeting,_

 _as if for a kiss…_

 _._

He swallowed hard, trying not to think of kissing Edith. He looked up, instinctively, foolishly. He knew she was unconscious but still he checked, hoping she had not noticed his reaction, only to find that she was, indeed, pouting slightly in her sleep. Could she hear him? Dragging his eyes back to the page he continued.

.

 _...I talked, too, read aloud_

 _from her favourite Yeats,_

 _or played the last, great_

 _Schubert quartets -_

 _the one in G_

 _that, with whole-hearted_

 _ambivalence,_

 _weighs in the balance_

 _the relative merits_

 _of major and minor_

 _and struggles to postpone the choice._

 _._

There was a thought: he wondered whether a little music might help pass the time and soothe them both. But try as he might he couldn't find any discs. Then he realised that her collection must be on her iPhone and he felt very old again, a feeling heightened when he skipped through the tracks not recognising any bands except The Rolling Stones.

There was nothing for it; he would have to watch over the young lady and endure the ridiculous imaginings of his fevered brain.

But were they? Were they just middle-aged yearnings and silly fantasies? Or something more serious? Much more serious? He looked at her and his heart gave a little leap.

Good god, he was in trouble.

"Meow!" Aslan jumped up onto Anthony's lap, took advantage of the man's surprise, and settled on his lap to sleep.

"You are a very lucky cat, Aslan. Your mistress is kind, and talented, and beautiful, and young. I hope you appreciate her and look after her."

Aslan gave him a superior look intended to convey just how much the cat loved his mistress, and how much he held anyone who doubted it in contempt. Still a warm lap was a warm lap, and Aslan was not a stupid cat; he would take it if it was there.

Anthony stroked the cat absentmindedly, and he watched Edith, with a driven care and a metamorphosing heart, for the rest of the night.

* * *

…

Around six the next morning, Edith's drugged stupor bleached into natural sleep. With sleep came dreams; dreams of loss and loneliness, of sisters luckier in love than she'd ever be, of a man with brilliantly blue eyes and a gentle manner, making her feel safe and cherished, until he too was gone. She woke with tears in her eyes.

"Lady Edith? How are you feeling?"

A deep voice rumbled gently at bed-level. Anthony was kneeling by her bedside, and had taken her hand, rubbing his thumb delicately over her fingers. It was amazingly soothing. There was also an insistent, annoyed mewing from the general direction of his knees.

"I think I'm feeling better than Aslan, thank you. Don't worry, I know what he's like. I realise that you did feed him last night, but he's trying to convince me otherwise so he gets a second helping. But more than that, I'm paying you attention he thinks is due to him by right. Don't be jealous, Aslan! I love you too!"

 _I love you_ _ **too**_ _! Could that mean…? It means absolutely nothing, you old fool._

He let her hand slip from his to lift the cat up to the bed, which is where Aslan most definitely wanted to be.

 _You and me too, my feline rival!_

Shaking himself back to reality, he left the lady and the cat and went to the kitchen to make some tea. When he returned he was rewarded with a joyous smile.

"Tea! Just what I felt like, thank you. I think you can read my mind."

 _I'm glad you can't read mine, my dear._

"How are you feeling? Really?"

"I feel a bit groggy but otherwise fine, as though I'd just had a very heavy night's sleep. I hope you got some rest too?" she asked.

"I did as I promised and looked after you. Aslan kept me company, didn't you?"

Aslan graciously gave a 'meow' indicating that it was actually the other way round.

"Didn't you get any sleep at all?" Edith's voice was full of worry.

"I would not have been able to even if I had tried, Lady Edith. I needed to check on you regularly, to make sure you were all right, but I think it would be wise to see a doctor this morning, just to be absolutely sure. And then…" his face darkened "...I intend to make an appointment to see the owner of your newspaper and therefore your boss's boss, right? Mr Gregson can't be allowed to get away with this sort of thing."

"Do you really have to? It's just that...well, I don't want to earn a reputation as a troublemaker."

"My dear, he was intending to _rape_ you! If you would prefer me just to report it to the police, then of course that is what I shall do. But this isn't just about you, you know; this is about protecting other female employees of the paper, because if you don't you won't be the last, and I very much doubt that you were the first."

That seemed to convince her, as she sipped her tea thoughtfully.

"Do you feel like some breakfast?"

"Anthony, you don't have to hang around, looking after me as though you were Jeeves! Even though you're dressed like him!" He looked down at his undone white tie and discarded tailcoat: he didn't look like Jeeves at all. If anything, he looked like an upper-crust lush. Edith continued "You must be so tired. Why don't you go home and get some rest?" He looked utterly crestfallen, as though he had somehow failed her. She hurried to reassure him.

"I'm really very grateful to you. I am, truly. I just feel...well, a bit embarrassed about it all now."

Anthony gave a sad, understanding nod. The dream was almost at an end. There was nothing he could do to extend it further. He stood hoping to make it out of the front door before he lost control of his tears.

Edith watched him, saw the misery in his expression, and regretted allowing her fears to show. He looked so delicious in his slightly ruffled formal clothes. She didn't want him to go, but she couldn't really believe he would want to stay. She couldn't let him leave without at least…well, she could but hope...

"Wait!"

She called out, leaning out of bed and treating him to a glorious view of all that he had tried not to imagine: in reality it was only a glimpse of her nightdress, but to him it was wonderful. God, she was beautiful! She scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to him.

"That's my number. Let me know what I should do with...er, the police...please, would you?"

His astonished face broke into a lopsided smile. He took out a piece of card from his waistcoat pocket.

"My business card, but it has my contact details. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything; anything at all. And I'll call you later on today, just to check you're okay, if that's all right with you?"

"I'd like that...very much."

* * *

…

That unbelieving smile just wouldn't go away. It was there when he returned the white tie and tails to the hire shop. It was even still there when he arrived at the Police Station, although it soon evaporated as he made his statement to a stone-faced sergeant. It threatened to take over as he held his phone ready to call Edith. He pushed his fears away and pressed the speed dial he'd programmed in as soon as he had left her flat.

* * *

…

Edith had seen a doctor and been told she was fine, but to take it easy over the next few days. When she'd rung in sick to the paper she'd had to tell HR what had happened, which was awkward but necessary. She slept some more, she cuddled Aslan, all the while waiting to hear Anthony's rich, thrilling baritone. Then, when she was beginning to think that he had forgotten all about her, her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Lady Edith. Anthony Strallan here. How are you now?"

"Much better, thank you. The doctor says I'm to be gentle with myself for a few days, but otherwise I'm back to normal. Thanks to you."

"Nonsense! It was the least I could do. I...er...I went to the police. They want to take a statement from you when you feel up to it. I've got an official Crime Number here somewhere that you'll need. You can take a friend with you if you would be happier doing that rather than going alone. It doesn't have to be me."

"I would be happier...happiest if you would come with me, though."

"Really? Would you really? Well, I'm not doing anything for the rest of the afternoon, if you want to get it over and done with? That is, if you're feeling up to it?"

"I think that's a good idea. I don't want to drag it out."

"Right. I'll come round and pick you up in half an hour, if that's all right with you?"

"Perfect. See you then."

Each of them cut the call with a happy smile, and nervous, excited butterflies, which, in Anthony's case at least, lasted all the way to her flat in a cab. How could knowing someone for less than twenty four hours make him feel so much...excited, hopeful, younger? Asking the cabbie to wait he pressed the buzzer for flat four. There was no answer. He frowned and tried again. A woman came out from the stairwell and Anthony thanked her and walked through, trying to make it look entirely natural and not as though he was technically trespassing and/or breaking and entering. At the top of the stairs, he found Edith's door ajar, and his blood went cold. He pushed it open and walked through. There were voices coming from the kitchen, Edith's and a man's. Anthony heard a noise as though a chair had been pushed over, and Edith yelped.

Anthony didn't even think. He strode into the room, saw the young man from last night holding Edith by her wrists, and snapped.

"You nasty little cockroach! Let her go!"

Even Anthony was shocked by the force of his voice. Michael backed away, suddenly all innocence and geniality, as Anthony put himself between him and Edith.

"It's all right! Everything's fine. Edith merely misunderstood me about last night, and we needed to sort things, didn't we, dear?"

"If you mean your drugging her" said Anthony keeping his voice coldly level "then, yes, I believe we have things sorted out, Mr Gregson. Now please leave."

"We'll talk again when you're back in the office" he hissed at Edith as he left. Anthony made sure he'd gone and the door was firmly closed before he turned to Edith, who was quietly weeping. Anthony hesitated, unsure what to do for best.

"Edith?"

She turned and hugged him. He put his arms around her, anxious to comfort her, closed his eyes, and made soothing noises.

"There, there. It's all right now. You're okay."

Before he'd realised what he'd done, he'd pressed a gentle kiss into her hair. Her tears stalled and she looked up at him. He backed away, stuttering his apologies.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't. Thank you for coming to my aid...again." She sighed.

"What did he want?"

"He's terrified. He wants me to retract what I had to tell HR about last night. He says that I misunderstood his intentions and the drug was only meant to relax me."

Anthony scoffed.

"Yes, of course. That's why he used a drug that makes you pass out completely for several hours. You must do what you want, but I believe he is trying to manipulate you, Edith. He must not be allowed to succeed. You are too...wonderful...to be one of his victims. You are not to blame for any of this, no matter what he says."

"You're quite right, I know, but I feel so…" She looked up at him, waiting patiently for her to finish. "...so mean."

"That's what he wants you to think. But, don't take my word for it. I think we should go to the police station now, and you can see what they say." _Before the poison he's put in your head has a chance to take hold._

They gathered themselves together and went down to the street. Anthony stopped suddenly, his face like thunder.

"What's the matter?"

"That little...weasel! He's taken my cab!"

The tense silence was broken by Edith trying to hide her snickering, and then not bothering to hide it. Anthony looked at her, a bit put out, and then he too saw the funny side of it, and their helpless laughter began the healing process for them both.

* * *

…

The police were professional and sympathetic. A lady officer took Edith into an interviewing room for the best part of half an hour, while Anthony waited outside and worried. When they emerged, Edith looked much more settled and sure of herself. The policewoman came round and shook Anthony's hand.

"You are one of the good guys, Sir Anthony. I've seen so much in my service that I know one when I see one. It takes much, _much_ more courage to do the right thing and look weak, than it does to act on one's desires and look strong."

With that she left him looking shocked, and Edith smiling at him.

"I think I ought to buy you dinner, Sir Anthony, to thank you for being 'one of the good guys'."

* * *

…

The meal was delicious, the restaurant was not busy, and the staff easygoing. Edith and Anthony finally had a chance to begin where they should have done: telling each other about themselves.

"I really do read all your columns. I can't say I agree with you on absolutely everything, but you always make me think" he declared.

"Well, that's really what it's for, though I also try to write about topics a bit off the beaten track, you know, things other columnists don't tend to consider. Perhaps I could do one on Agricultural Management?"

"If you want to bore your readers to death, yes why not!" he smirked sadly.

"No, I mean it. Knowing where our food comes from, and how it is produced, is very important. More and more people are getting very interested."

"You could always come round a few of the farms I visit, if you like." He couldn't believe his luck: Edith actually wanted to spend time with him. He couldn't believe his amazing luck.

They walked along the Embankment rather than taking her straight back to her flat. They paused on Waterloo Bridge where The Houses of Parliament could be seen in one direction, and St. Paul's Cathedral in the other. In the moonlight everything felt so fairytale to Anthony, and he didn't want it to end.

"Edith, I know we met under strange circumstances, but, er, well…" he gathered all his courage and tried to say all his words at once "...it would make me really very sad if I weren't going to see you again. I don't have many friends, and we've got on so extremely well...at least on my side...but don't let any of that stop you telling me where to chuck it, if you...if you don't see it the same way...and there's absolutely no reason why you should...I'm a lot older and…"

"Oh Anthony! Stop rambling and kiss me! Please!"

She hoped, oh Lord! how she hoped that she had interpreted his nervous bit of a speech correctly. She gazed up at his astonished face, and for a horrible moment thought she'd pushed her luck. But she needn't have worried. He quickly pulled himself together and took her in his arms, looked at her adoringly, then pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow and unsure to begin. Anthony took his time, allowing her the leeway to draw back should she change her mind. Edith, however, had other plans. She parted her lips for him, almost causing him to faint, but he wasn't going to reject such a precious gift. He let his desires off the leash a little, and couldn't help moaning his worship of her against her mouth when she reciprocated.

Two teenagers passed them, one wolf whistling, the other shouted "Get a room, will yer?!"

They stopped kissing, both slightly out of breath, smiling shyly.

"With your permission, I think that's rather a nice idea" Anthony whispered in her hair.

Edith nodded and they ran, hand in hand, towards the rest of their lives.

* * *

...

(1) - Mr Bathurst has devised a one-man show where he recites this entire poem/sequence of poems (from memory) in the first half, and in the second half performs (also from memory) _The Song of Lunch_ as a two-hander with an actress. He calls it _Love, Loss, and Chianti_ and I had the honour of seeing it at Chichester last year. At that point, he was hoping to take it to New York, via London. Do see it if you can.

Charles Townshend, 2nd Viscount Townshend (1674 – 1738), known rather unfortunately as 'Turnip' Townshend, was a major part of my school history curriculum, a leading figure in the British Agricultural Revolution along with Jethro Tull and other such emotive folk heroes. Prior to Townshend, all through the Dark Ages, the Mediæval period, and the Renaissance and Reformation, most people had to slaughter most of their animals at the beginning of winter because there wasn't enough feed to keep them all alive until spring and feed the humans too. This was because the same crops were grown in the same fields for some years until all the nutrients were exhausted. Then the field was left 'fallow', without a crop for a season or two to recover.

Townshend either developed or popularised (there's some doubt how far he originated the theory) that if crops were rotated between barley, wheat, clover, and TURNIPS, this eliminated the need for a fallow period because the nutrients one crop takes from the earth another replaces, and, additionally, the system provided a feed crop for animals for the winter, the turnips, so they didn't have to be slaughtered.

This completely changed the way we farmed in Western Europe, vastly improving yields and supporting/causing the explosion in the population that in turn fuelled the Industrial Revolution, and, ironically, also causing the migration of most of the workforce from the countryside into the cities in the first half of the 1800s and which we still see today.

Calling Anthony 'Turnip' Strallan and giving him the profession of an Agricultural Management Consultant has prompted a certain amount of correspondence with my readers. In fact, so much so that I really want to keep this concept for another, longer story now. So I'll just leave it with this story that he's a consultant on agricultural matters. Watch this space!


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